


J is for Jealousy

by hyesoh



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Eve Moneypenny Ships James Bond/Q, Gaby Teller Ships Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo, Jealous Illya Kuryakin, Jealous James Bond, M/M, Q is a Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5484212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyesoh/pseuds/hyesoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eve and Gaby might have found their favorite form of entertainment in a jealous James and Illya glaring daggers at Napoleon while he and Q discuss science under a hideously red patio umbrella.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No excuses for the timey-wimey things. I just have a lot of feels.

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself a little too much, Moneypenny,” James said, almost spitting her surname as if it was an insult. His eyes weren’t on her, however, but on two men dining at the Italian restaurant across the street.

Eve didn’t even have it in her to get mad at him. She just raised her champagne glass to her lips and smirked. “Oh, I am, James. In fact, I’m actually kicking myself for not arranging this as soon as I found out that M and Mr. Waverly knew each other from uni.”

“Well, you can tell Mr. Waverly that his agency’s acronym needs serious work,” James said acidly. From across the street and under a hideously red patio umbrella, Q was visibly enjoying the company of Napoleon Solo, if his delighted face and animated gestures were anything to go by.

“And what shall I tell M, hmm?” Eve asked, her smile growing wider. “That James Bond, notorious double-oh known for bedding women left and right, is jealous because another agent from another agency is flirting with our beloved Quartermaster?”

She could almost hear James gnash his teeth. “They’re supposed to be working.”

“The Deutsches Museum doesn’t close until five o’clock,” Eve said. “So, technically speaking, they still have two hours to...well, do whatever they want, really, seeing as Q has already hacked into the museum’s security cameras, and Mr. Solo is reputedly very good at what he does.”

“Oh?” James asked. Eve noticed the tips of his fingers were white from gripping his glass of scotch. Eve raised her eyebrow at that and turned her gaze to Napoleon Solo, ex-art-thief, and Quincey Holmes, ex-black-hat. Q looked like he was saying something incredibly technical, but Napoleon was all ears. He was leaning forward, hands clasped in front of him, nodding here and there, providing input whenever he could (which made Q even more invested in their discussion), and never looking away from Q.

“Yes,” Eve said, ignoring how James poured himself more scotch. “I also heard that when he was working for the CIA, he managed to return most of his tech in good working condition even if he himself looked like he went through a shredder. Can you imagine someone like him working for MI6? Q Branch is going to worship him and build a shrine in his honor.”

“You sound like you fancy him.”

“I do,” Eve admitted easily. “I’d have to be an especially unfeeling rock not to fancy him. And, since we’re already talking about it, I don’t think I’m the only one from MI6 on this street who fancies him.”

As if on cue, Q reached forward to illustrate something using Napoleon’s hand. Judging from how Q had wrapped his fingers on Napoleon’s ring finger, it was probably the taser-ring. Eve knew because Q had explained it to her the other day. James, on the other hand…

“Do his brothers know about this?” he asked. His breathing pattern suggested that he was trying to calm himself. Eve thought he was just wasting his time and was better off climbing a mountain with both hands and feet tied together.

“Of course they do,” Eve said. “You know MI6 is under Mycroft Holmes’s jurisdiction. Nothing happens that he doesn’t hear of. And, well, Mr. Solo and Sherlock Holmes have a shared tendency to...ah, re-acquire things. 005 says the two of them actually got along after mutually insulting each other during their first meeting. No doubt he now fears for the safety of the entire world if those two ever decide to team-up.” She looked at James’ incredulous look and added, “You’re going to have to up your game, Mr. Bond.”

“Well, shit,” James said, probably remembering his own (quite likely disastrous) first meeting with Sherlock Holmes. “Am I going to have to steal the Mona Lisa?”

“Q likes Monet,” Eve suggested, cherishing how James actually nodded in earnest, before adding, “Too bad Mr. Solo has already re-acquired most of his paintings.”

James swore under his breath. Eve patted his shoulder mockingly, then glanced at the nearest mirror beside their table to see how Gaby was faring with Illya. Judging from how Napoleon’s Russian partner was holding a fork the same way James was holding his glass of scotch, and the devious grin on Gaby’s face, she figured it wouldn’t be too long before their charges get their heads out of their respective asses.

“A word of advice?” Eve said, unable to resist. “If I were you, I’d just be thankful Q and Mr. Solo are choosing to spend their free time discussing tech stuff in public rather than retreat to somewhere more private and acquaint themselves with each other very thoroughly.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demand/overwhelming feels of the people in the comments section, and thanks to my feely and diligent muses.

“Who is that man?”

Gaby looked up from her tablet and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you have already forgotten Napoleon, Illya. The two of you were just arguing over bowties this morning.”

“Not Cowboy. The other one. Short. Dark hair. Skinny.”

Gaby worked her facial muscles to convey surprised hurt instead of amusement. “Me? Now you’ve forgotten me?”

Illya shot her a look that made her pick up her excellent strawberry daiquiri off the table in case Illya was thinking of flipping it--one of Illya’s deplorable habits, according to Napoleon. Shit. Now Gaby couldn’t get the image of the table-flipping GIF out of her head. Maybe she could make a GIF that replaces the emoji with Illya’s pissed-off face. “You know who I mean, Gaby.” He turned his glare back to the Italian restaurant across the road.

Gaby didn’t have to look. She already knew what she would see. Napoleon, being his usual charming self, and Q, her MI6 counterpart, on a date. Well, sort-of date. Just-two-employees-from-different-intelligence-agencies-passing-the-time date. Still, she looked over, if only to humor Illya.

Huh. Well, no wonder Illya looks like he’s on a table-flipping mood. Napoleon was (unconsciously) doing the smoulder thing. (And if Napoleon would rather work for the CIA under Sanders again than admit he watches Disney movies, then Gaby would happily sell him out. Disney movies are awesome.) Q was oblivious to it though, so Gaby thinks it might have something to do with regularly being on the receiving end of James Bond’s version of the move. She’d have to ask Eve about that.

“You mean Q?” she asked. Illya nodded tersely. “Well, aside from the facts you probably got from UNCLE’s dossiers and other second-hand sources, he’s a darling,” she said. “Cute, smart, dangerous--” Illya looked at her disbelievingly. “Don’t give me that look. Q could easily be the richest man in the world by creating a program that automatically transfers money from the top ten billionaires’ accounts to his. Or disable every device on the planet except his just to make a point.” She didn’t add that if she was a Jedi, then Q was the Grand Jedi Master. Illya wouldn’t get the reference.

“No wonder Cowboy looks besotted.”

It was Gaby’s turn to look at him disbelievingly. “I’m sorry, did I just hear the word besotted? I must have drank more alcohol than I thought.”

“I study English words whenever possible,” Illya said, unabashed. “I can think of no word to describe his face. Except besotted.”

“Well,” Gaby said. “I can think of a few more words to describe his face right now. Entranced would probably be your safest bet. Unless you’d rather use turned on, aroused, or horny.”

Illya’s right hand was pressed flat against the table, but his left hand was starting to shake. Gaby didn’t comment or even glance at it, but she also didn’t place her daiquiri glass back on the table. “They are supposed to be working.”

“Actually, they’re supposed to be waiting for the Deutsches Museum to close, so they’re not supposed to do anything.” Gaby placed a hand over Illya’s shaking left hand. “Illya, I swear to god, if you flip anything, I’ll sell all your hats--yes, even the top hat Mr. Waverly gave you, and set your ringtone to the chorus of Wrecking Ball.”

Illya’s left hand didn’t still immediately, but it didn’t take more than a minute for it to stop shaking. “Why I ever think you’re innocent, I will never know.”

Gaby smiled sweetly and patted his cheek. “So cute.”

“I am not cute.”

Gaby smirked. “Uh-huh. You’re not cute and Napoleon doesn’t likes cute things.”

A pause. Illya’s brows furrowed. “What? I don’t understand.”

“Let’s put it this way, then,” Gaby said. “You see the look on Napoleon’s face right now?”

Illya glanced at Napoleon, clenched his jaw, and looked back at Gaby. “What about it?” His right hand seemed to have a mind of its own as it had somehow managed to grab a fork without Gaby noticing. (Or Illya is a secret ninja with forks up his sleeves. That’s always a possibility.)

“You know when else he looks like that?” Gaby asked. When Illya opened his mouth to answer, she amended, “Other than when pretty people flirt with him or when pretty people talk top-secret technology stuff with him?”

“When he looks in the mirror,” Illya answered promptly.

“Also except that,” Gaby conceded. “You know when else?”

When Illya shrugged, Gaby leaned over to him as if imparting the secrets of the universe. “When you’re playing chess by yourself, when it’s your turn to cook and you’re frowning at the cookbook, and when you’re being a gentleman.” At Illya’s gobsmacked expression--and oh, look, the fork isn’t being squeezed to deformity now, she added, “And when you take off your jacket at the end of the day and roll your head and your shoulders to work out the kinks.”

“Cowboy looks,” Illya frowned as he looked for a proper word to use. “Entranced?”

Gaby nodded solemnly. “Turned on, aroused, and horny.”


End file.
